Hogwarts: A History
by The B.A.T
Summary: This is the story behind the history of everyone's favorite Wizarding School. Learn how the founders became famous, how Hogwarts was founded, and why Slytherin separated from the others! Prologue and Chap 1 up! R&R!
1. Prologue

Disclaimer- I do not own the Harry Potter franchise or said factual ideas about the founders. What I do own are the characters and the original storyline I create. Anything else is owned under the copyrights of J. K. Rowling 

That being said, enjoy!

**_Hogwarts: A History_**

**_Prologue_**

**__**

                One finds it hard to imagine such a beautiful day as the 30th of March brought about in 865's spring. Perched high above neighboring towns on a lush, green hill, Slytherin Manor resides unperturbed and sovereign in the faces of the townships nearby. A small castle, or perhaps a rather large estate, but that matters not. Nothing else seems to matter about the size of the Manor once you have fixed your eyes upon its breathtaking features. Six towers, each with a huge serpent sculpted to appear as though it wraps around them, the heads all pointing in separate directions: one gets the impression that these statuesque serpents are real if gazed upon long enough.

                The mere sight of the Slytherin family's estate is enough to spark the greenest envy, but it is simply impossible to ignore the inner dwellings of the Manor, accessible through the twin doors the size of a medium-length drawbridge. Etched on each of these doors are snakes, one to a door, gloriously curling into magnificent illustrations of the letter "S" and shining brilliantly in a shade of emerald green. Once these doors open, one wanders into the courtyard, as well as a splendorous garden.  Roses, tulips, lilies, violets, and other common (as well as not-so-common) flowers blossom and bloom all around, shadowed by rich, apple orchards. This garden is remarkably beautiful, despite the recent end of a bitter winter, as if it were somehow preserved through the ages, a small patch of Eden.

                Passing through the center of the courtyard, where a fairly large pond holds enchanting koi from distant lands, one proceeds to the front door of the house itself at last. Entering the main hall, one walks across a room with tiles of jade and marble, and the choice of paths arises where one can either climb the twin staircases to the second floor with its emerald green carpets, or one can opt to go beneath and between the staircases to enter into the dining hall, where golden chandeliers hang above a seemingly never-ending table made of obsidian, where several precious vases decorate the corners of the vast room, and golden plates and crystal goblets rest delicately on shelves in a secluded portion of the hall.

                Beyond these rooms, on either the first or second floors, one will also come to discover the ballroom, stretching endlessly onward with a sense of vertigo, the walls decorated with tapestries of a noble green and silver. Below the grandeur of the estate, a wine cellar is situated, housing wines of every known (as well as unknown) quality and flavor imaginable. On the second floor, one can admire the voluminous library, with hundreds of thousands of books, with its monumental columns sculpted to look like snakes infinitely curling around pillars as thick as towering oaks. Then there are the bedrooms with their four-posters and silk sheets, the study, with its cozy settings and armchairs, the fireplace illuminating countless portraits (none in animation) of Slytherin ancestry and a mantelpiece emblem made out of pure gold showing off a two-headed python, and over thirty bathrooms, but once again, none of that holds any importance.

                What _does _matter is that the entire estate, to the average eye, seems far too unreal, too impossible, too… _magical _to exist, and yet it does. One even wonders how so much is capable of fitting on such a small hill when the entirety of Slytherin Manor doesn't seem capable of holding even the ballroom _or _the library, and yet, it does. On this particular day, this house has cause and purpose to impress outsiders, for the Slytherin kinship is hosting the sixteenth birthday of their only son. A small get-together, but it is an ordeal nonetheless. 

Lazaro Slytherin, head of his family, was known to be rather selective of the few guests who did manage to venture into the halls of his humble yet incredibly boastful abode. These few were not unlike himself, his kind. This select few didn't stretch to knights or nobles, but rather to a group of people with special blood, families with magical lineage. However, the outside world, the "regular" world, does not venture into this household—though Lazaro would kindly welcome them if possible— because they do not and could _never _know, comprehend, or accept this secret life.

During this day and age, wizarding families were few and far apart, and even scarcer were magical brethren with solely magical blood running in their veins. There could exist, over hundreds of acres, only one or two families of which have majority in magical lineage, though many non-magical families were beginning to produce witches and wizards of their own. The problem, however, was that magic during these times was fiercely hated and deeply feared by those who could not conjure nor comprehend it. Persecution was far from uncommon, though the instances were minor, ending in simplistic things like town square floggings or holy "cleansings"—which aren't possible since magic can't _really _be erased— yet strong opposition against magic was quickly mounting.  Even so, the few magical families that _did _exist maintained their secrecy, scoffing at their would-be persecutors, deeming them too weak and inferior to ever pose a large threat to wizardkind.

Early that afternoon, Lazaro assembled his family by the twin doors that made up the front gate. They would all be waiting there to greet the guests whom they were expecting, who would all be arriving shortly. A woman with long auburn hair and hazel eyes stared off into the nearby town, beaming happily as she snuck a quick glance at her proud, anxious son. The boy could be no older than sixteen, tall and handsome with platinum-blonde hair, an exact replica of his still taller father, only more youthful in his features. Lazaro took a brief moment to address his son.

"Now, Salazar, remember what I told you. When the Gryffindors arrive, I expect you on your best behavior. This may be your day, but I expect nothing less of you than utmost courtesy in the presence of our guests. I would hate to see your day ruined by some minor mishap." The boy simply looked at his father and gave an indignant smile.

"Father, why of all days would I even _want _to try to sabotage my own _birthday_? You know very well that I plan to enjoy this day," Salazar said in a matter-of-fact tone, looking at his father with what he probably hoped was a winning expression. When he saw it wasn't winning, he continued talking. "Oh, come _off _it, Father! There's only one way this day will go bad, and that's if their son ends up ruining it. What if we don't get al—"

"You will," Lazaro abruptly declared, cutting off his son's nervous pleas with the air of a command more so than a hopeful expectation. Their wait wasn't much longer as the first appearance of their guests came from the east. Walking close together, they were all dressed in red as the Slytherins were all dressed in their noble green. 

Unlike the royal clothing of non-magical beings seen on the Gryffindors, the Slytherin family was dressed in robes, the mark of the wizarding community. Their special robes had the family symbol marked on their lapels; the snake shaped like an "S". The Gryffindor man was one with graying hair and a goatee, wearing a red cape over a gray shirt and pants, held together by a black leather belt. Black shoes with buckle could be seen on his feet, and the emblem of a lion on his shirt. His wife was one with jet-black hair, sweeping down to her waist, and earrings made of small pearls. She wore a crimson dress, obviously made for formal occasions specifically. Trailing behind them was a little boy wearing a bright red cloak, his head covered beneath the hood. He was considerably shorter than his parents, whereas Salazar was taller than his mother and almost as tall as his father. _Must be a little younger than me_, Salazar thought as he watched them marching up merrily to the Manor, beaming—with the exception of the boy's face; he couldn't see it.

"LAZARO!" roared the Gryffindor father as he extended his hand proudly. The reserved, serious manner of Salazar's father seemed to melt away as he prepared to respond, and the two were loud and full of a rowdiness the likes of which the young Slytherin had never seen. _So _this _is how Father acts around his friends… interesting… _Lazaro immediately extended his hand as well and Salazar watched as their grips tightened challengingly, then as the father Gryffindor slapped Lazaro playfully on the back.

"Ah, it is such a pleasure to see you this fine day, Geoffrey," Lazaro said, an undeniable grin in his expression. Geoffrey Gryffindor turned to face Salazar, and his smile broadened as well.

"But the pleasure here doesn't rest with _you_, dear friend," Gryffindor replied with an attitude of great praise that made Salazar smile nervously, though he was somewhat flattered. "So _you're_ the young lad Lazaro tells me so much about, and almost a fully grown man yourself, I see! Tis a pleasure to meet you at last, young Salazar," Gryffindor added, bowing in such a humorous way that the entire group laughed—except for one person. The boy in the hooded cloak hadn't made a sound yet, something Salazar was reluctantly quick to notice. Now he was somewhat nervous, but it had nothing to do with flattery. He was beginning to doubt this day would go well at all, until—

"GODRIC!" Geoffrey Gryffindor boomed, causing Salazar to jump out of his worrisome state. The cloaked boy backed away somewhat. "Come, now! Don't be shy! You're anything _but _shy when we're at home. Come greet the birthday boy!" he continued loudly, his laughs filling the air with such a merriness that Salazar began to gain some confidence and hope that today might be enjoyable after all. Godric began to approach the Slytherins slowly, a bit of tension and apprehension showing in his cloaked figure. As he neared Salazar, he began to speak. Salazar was right in assuming he was somewhat younger; he had a voice that seemed to be five years younger than the mature one that Salazar used.

                "P-p-pleased to meet you," said Godric, holding out his hand as shakily as he spoke. Salazar returned the gesture, and the two anxiously shook hands, withdrew them, and then stood in a few seconds' silence.

                "Oh, for Merlin's sake, boy! Remove your hood and let them all have a gander at you!" Geoffrey ordered. The young Gryffindor carefully removed his hood, as his father continued expressing his sincerest apologies to his hosts. "Seriously, Lazaro, I don't know why the boy's acting so shy. He's a regular comedian at home. I suppose meeting new people _will _do him some good, then, but those two will get along fine, I'm sure of it." Once the hood was completely down, the face was that of a young boy who looked a couple years older than he actually was. Oddly enough, his hair was also jet-black, tied back in a short ponytail that reached his neck, and he had brilliant green eyes. He looked somewhat athletic, and Salazar could tell that he was probably rather clever. He could see why the boy was described as outspoken at home; he looked rather outgoing as well. 

                "Ah, so you've finally come out of your shell, have you?" Geoffrey Gryffindor asked with a hearty guffaw. "Well, all the better for young Slytherin, here. I was beginning to worry that you two would never try to get to know one another." Gryffindor looked at Lazaro in mock offense, letting out a fake gasp, which brought smirks to the faces of Salazar and Godric. "_Lazaro_! I'm shocked and chagrinned. Have you no manners? I would _think _you of all people would remember to bring your guests inside? It's not been an easy journey. The _least _you can do is allow us to rest our weary feet!"

                Lazaro, while thoroughly amused, gave a weak laugh. "So terribly sorry, my fellow gentleman. We will enter at once. Have I introduced you to my wife, Aurora?" Aurora Slytherin smiled quaintly as she did a sort of curtsy, and Gryffindor bowed to complement the gesture. He then motioned attention towards his own wife, grinning broadly. It was rather apparent that he treasured her greatly and was always proud to be the one to introduce her.

                "Ah, yes, such a charming one, you are, Lady Slytherin. However, you will find that my wife, Gloria, will give you quite a run for your money." Gryffindor jokingly said, winking as Gloria Gryffindor curtsied as well, drawing a bow from Lazaro in complement. Formal greetings aside, the head of the Slytherin estate motioned for family and guest alike to follow him into the confines of his home beyond the two front doors, which came to a complete close as they finally passed through.

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                The day had wound down considerably, and the sun was beginning to glow a bright reddish-orange. After a quick tour—in comparison to the shortest time it would take—of the Slytherin household, the two noble families went out to the courtyard for tea and biscuits. Snapping his fingers twice, Lazaro caused three sets of beautifully crafted quartz tables, each table seating two at a time, to appear by the serene setting of the pond. At this, the women chose the one nearest a group of koi, which had surfaced for feeding, and Lazaro and Gryffindor decided to go and test each other's mettle in a wizards' duel spar. The two boys still seemed a little apprehensive toward each other.

                "Salazar, aren't you and your friend going to watch us duel for a bit?" Lazaro asked invitingly.

                "No, Father, thanks." Salazar seemed to be unable to think of anything to say or do, and then—"Father! Would it be okay if Godric came with me to look at my room?" Godric, who didn't really look like he wanted to admire anyone's room, jumped at the mention of his name.

                "As, you wish, son." 

At this, Salazar grabbed Godric sharply by the arm, which induced a startled yelp, and beckoned him towards the house doors once more.

"Come on. You won't believe it. I've got _loads _to show you!"

"O-okay," the young Gryffindor reluctantly answered as he was dragged away from the pond, the women situating themselves to be entertained as they waited for the duel to begin, their husbands' wands held out like swords. Salazar had just closed the front door when he heard Godric's father yell, "_Mobilihydrus_," and blast a raging torrent of pond water at his own.

"Follow me, it's up the stairs," Salazar beckoned, an uncertain and helpless Godric bringing up the rear of the small caravan. Climbing the staircase was the easy part—even walking down the endlessly lengthy halls was easy—it was what came after that was the hard part. Finally finding the door he wanted to enter down the long hall, Salazar led a confused Godric (he had been expecting the bedroom to be through these doors) through a hidden passage behind a portrait, snaking and breaking into other passages that Godric didn't even _bother _to try to remember.

"Almost there," said Salazar, as they spent about ten minutes going through the tunnels—oddly enough made of marble—"I don't even know why Father troubled himself with making my room so obscure."

"Has he ever told you?" asked Godric, who was catching his breath as he hobbled along behind the swift pace of Salazar's fast—and obviously highly practiced—walk.

"Yeah, sure, _plenty _of times. I still don't get it. He seems thoroughly convinced that the Muggles will find out about us and wants to make sure I'm safe when the time comes. 'You'll be able to escape from your room,'" Salazar enthusiastically stated in a tone mockingly similar to that of his father's. Godric was somewhat impressed at how well Salazar could do the impersonation and gave a sort of laugh, but Salazar had already continued onward. "Here we are—welcome to my room."

If Godric thought any of the main bedrooms were a sight to behold, he was certainly breathless in the decorum of Salazar's. It seemed like its very own chamber. A four-poster in the distance signified where Salazar slept, shrouded in silky green curtains and a jade green bedspread only visible because it was a darker shade of green. Above the bed, etched beautifully, were the Latin words, _Draco Dormiens_, and when Salazar noticed Godric gawking in awe at this, he grinned broadly and walked up behind his guest.

"Like it, do you? Yes, I do too. I begged my father to put that up. You know what it means, don't you?"

"Sleeping dragon, right?" said Godric.

"Wow, I'm impressed! Then again, no I'm not. Us types have to learn Latin to get ahead. How else can we cast our spells?" Salazar continued. "Well, I didn't bring you all the way here just to look at my _bed_! Come take a look around," he warmly offered, showing Godric the other fine features of his room. Pillars all around, though nowhere as towering as those of the library, still had the wrapping snake effect, and the snakes were actually painted for a more realistic one still. Salazar showed Godric his collection of magical toys ("I always keep one of the original. Father thinks that's wise too."), and his alchemy and potions set.

"Now, _this_," said Salazar, pointing to the set, which consisted of countless potion ingredients and tools on a very broad table that spanned the length the bedroom wall, "is probably my greatest hobby. I've seriously been trying to find a way to get my pictures to _move_. It's been a goal of mine ever since they made those new wizard chess sets that actually _look _like they're in battle. Do you know about those?"

"N-no," Godric said, somewhat preoccupied with all he took in, speechlessly fixed in amazement. At this, Salazar smiled.

"I suppose you wouldn't. They're brand-new, actually. Father was just barely able to secure a set. They're selling incredibly fast, and are well worth it. _Very _entertaining, wizard chess is. Do you play chess at all?" asked Salazar. Godric nodded, then grinned fervently.

"I play all the time. Me and Dad always have a go at it, and I beat him every time," he said, sticking out his chest in what was unmistakably a proud manner. Even Salazar had to grin at this.

"Is that so? Well, your father and I just happen to be two very different people. What say you to a nice couple rounds of chess, wizarding style?" Salazar challenged. Godric couldn't say no. How could he say 'no', and furthermore, how could he turn down an opportunity to beat the pants off of someone who challenged _him_? The two eagerly gathered the materials for the chess set, and hastened themselves back out of the entrance to Salazar's quarters.

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                Godric and Salazar enjoyed a few games of wizard's chess—actually, it was _Godric _who had the most enjoyment as he beat Salazar every time, grinning broadly when Salazar muttered, "Show off" after the fourth game he lost—Geoffrey Gryffindor and Lazaro Slytherin were staying far, _far_ away from their wives as was possible at the moment. During the duel, which had been equally played on both sides to a stalemate, the two had both cast Splitting Charms at the same time: if it weren't for their wives' laughter and commentary ("My, my, boys, rather impressive, _rather _impressive), they wouldn't have minded the double-effect of shouting _Diffindo_, which ended up splitting both of their robes, revealing sights they would never let out of their bedrooms. 

The robes were easily repaired by magic: the embarrassment, however, was far too much for them to bear. The women just remained at their table, sipping on tea and having light conversation, every now and then bringing up a comment that made their husbands' ears go pink, and then giggling to themselves about how cute they were when angry. The boys took every opportunity to snicker at this.

                "You know I'm going to beat you again, don't you?" said Godric, pleased that playing as white _or _black, he was always capable of winning, greater _still _because Salazar had earlier boasted the advantage that his pieces would be better suited to himself because he owned them and had broken in both sides.

                "Look at _that_! They're going to go at it _again_!" yelled Salazar with such interest that Godric, whose back was to their fathers, turned to have a look see at what was about to unfold. Salazar immediately took this opportunity to knock some of Godric's better pieces off the board, satisfied with himself and bearing a huge grin when Godric turned around. _No way I can lose again now_.

                "I didn't see anything. What were they doing again?" Godric asked naively.

                "Er… nothing much. Just going pink in the ears again."

                "Oh…" said Godric, a tad disappointed. Then as he was about to make a move with his bishop, of which he'd planned before the sudden interruption, he looked at the board again, and was baffled. _What bishop? _Not only was his last bishop gone but, so were both his knights and a pawn. He looked up at Salazar, who was trying his best to look extremely confused as though he didn't notice anything occur. "Didn't I have a bishop here?" Godric asked, scratching his head.

                "Er… not that I remember. Problem?" Salazar replied innocently.

                "No… guess not…" Godric answered gloomily. Salazar was just about to give himself a metaphorical pat on the back when underneath their table a voice caught his and Godric's attention.

                "Cheater! That's what you are, young man!" Salazar's jaw dropped. Godric's did the same, but at least he could still move; Salazar was still gawking at the bishop helping an unconscious knight back onto his horse and relocating the other knight's arm, as well as bandaging the pawn's head, while Godric stole quick, constant glances between the pieces and Salazar. The bishop looked up at them and said once more, "Cheater!" Salazar was looking rather betrayed.

                "Why you no good _stool pigeon_! You just ratted your owner out!" he spat indignantly. The bishop stretched his back until a small "_crack!_"was heard, and looked up at them again.

                "Tis my duty to uphold honor in war, sir. And _you _gave me cause to do so!"

                "Why didn't you say anything before?" Salazar implored, looking exasperated at his run of bad luck.

                "Couldn't say anything while I was trying to pull myself together literally, now could I?" the bishop retorted acidly. Salazar stuttered out what he was going to say in response, but stopped when he realized the words just wouldn't come. "Carry on, men. Some help here, please?" Godric picked up the fallen pieces and placed them back where he was _sure _he'd remembered seeing them, then gave a look of pure shock at Salazar, who, at the moment, could only laugh nervously.

                "Heh, heh… just a game, right?" Salazar asked, otherwise speechless except for his nervous chuckles. Godric gawked at him a bit longer, then smiled.

                "You know cheaters never prosper, don't you?" he said, sticking his tongue out at Salazar to let him know that there was nothing else felt but temporary astonishment. Salazar grinned.

                "Wanna bet? I saw you quickly pocket that pawn when I turned my head earlier," snapped Salazar just as jovially, making Godric's ears go pink. Then he thought about something he couldn't understand and addressed it to Godric. "But how on _earth _did you keep it silent? How'd you keep its mouth shut?" Godric simply grinned, flattered at how impressed Salazar looked right then.

                "Simple. I'm just a better cheater," he answered coolly, pulling out the pawn, which was trying to shout the same way the bishop had, only to make a muffled noise behind a tightly wrapped handkerchief. The two had a good laugh over that game.

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                Nighttime was soon approaching, and the families retreated to the study, where the boys set off Filibuster Fireworks on the rug near the fireplace and the adults discussed politics.

                "I swear those Muggles are getting more and more meddlesome by the day," growled Lazaro as Aurora nodded solemnly. "It's only a matter of time before we're found out, and there aren't enough of us in one area to fend them all off."

                "Yes. This is true, but what do we do? Surely you don't expect us to fight hatred with hatred, Lazaro?" Gryffindor pointed out. "We'd be no better than them if we just started killing them off."

                Lazaro stood up and banged his fist on the arm of his chair, something so abrupt that it caused Salazar to set off a firework that ended up exploding in his own face. Godric laughed till Salazar pointed his wand at the younger boy's face, making him grow a white beard. 

"Act your age," he replied sharply, wiping the ash from his own face, and the both of them continued laughing, once again oblivious to the adult conversation on the other side of the study. 

Lazaro recollected himself and began to speak. "You know they'll be after us soon. They're suspecting my family. They don't suspect yours just yet because you don't often come into town and live farther off. That damned Phobus is really beginning to fry my nerves." The others gave a groan, and Gryffindor sighed.

"What has he done _this _time?" Gryffindor asked. Apparently, this "Phobus" character wasn't exactly popular among them.

"I was in town, shopping for fabric to make new robes, and it seems he caught yet _another _Muggle-born, Geoffrey," said Lazaro through a sorrowful expression. "The poor girl. She was merely six."

"What do you mean, _was_?" Geoffrey Gryffindor interjected. He didn't like the sound of that; neither did anyone else. Even the boys stopped playing their trivial games to listen more attentively from the warmth of the fireplace, which didn't really help at the moment; they were getting slight shivers up their spines that only a sense of foreboding could give, and nothing seemed to give off that sense stronger than the impending tragedy that was seeping through every word Lazaro painfully brought himself to say.

"This is too hard to say, Geoffrey, please don't make me say it," pleaded Lazaro, his hands clammy and eyes tearing up with a burning sensation. Gryffindor sat there silently, giving Lazaro some time to regain his composure, as he was sure Lazaro was trying to say "it" anyway, and Aurora got up and held her husband gently, trying her best to calm him down with her loving embrace. She could feel him trembling, but the shakes soon began to subside and he wiped his eyes. He looked up at her.

"Lend me your handkerchief, dear, thanks. I don't know if I will be able to stop after I say it." Aurora reached into her robes and pulled out her green handkerchief, letting him wipe his eyes on it gratefully. "He _killed _her, that's what he did. Yes, my love, he killed her," said Lazaro as he watched the expression of abject horror dawn on his wife's face. Geoffrey Gryffindor, though his eyes usually held a kindness, was burning all over… his hands were shaking, he didn't seem to be able to control his oncoming surge of emotion. The boys watched on, and Godric looked at Salazar warningly.

"I think it's best we go now. I've seen my father get like this before. Let's go outside." The two boys left the adults in the room, their tensions building. Geoffrey started to grit his teeth, but no catastrophe had occurred just yet (though Gloria was watching him cautiously), so Lazaro was still explaining what happened.

"He dragged the poor girl out into the town square, and had her flogged several times, you know, 'Set an _example_'. Even the poor girl's _parents _couldn't bear to watch. This was just wrong, and the worst part is most of the crowd was cheering. If you could have seen her frightened little face, Geoffrey…" Lazaro choked as he prepared to continue, and took about ten seconds before he was able to try again. "Then they dragged her by a horse, bruised and bloody, to the gallows, and—" this was too much. The women burst into tears and Lazaro turned away, sobbing heavily into his hands. Geoffrey, however, was handling this in a completely different manner.

"DAMN HIM!" he bellowed, bursting out of his chair with such force that it fell over in a heavy thud. Everyone stopped what they were doing as they watched in shock for a couple of seconds, seeing him shouting, cursing, thrashing about in a pained, hateful rage. He punched walls, he kicked, he spat; Aurora tried to get up to calm him, but Lazaro and Gloria both held out hands to signal for her to just let him burn himself out. Whether they could understand how he felt, or whether they were simply too afraid to approach him, can't be said. However, he did do what they hoped; he calmed slightly, picked up whatever he had knocked down, and sat back into his repositioned chair.

"Sorry," he muttered, and turned his face away from them in deep contemplation and anger, partially from embarrassment, and partially because he was so furious he didn't know what to think, or what to do with himself for that matter. Lazaro blew his nose and wiped his eyes once more. They sat there in silence for a few minutes, perhaps a moment of commemoration for the poor victim of such a heinous crime, or maybe the silent scorn of the guilty party involved, but either way, it was eerily quiet in there for awhile, until Gloria finally spoke.

"Lazaro, what exactly happened that makes you think he suspects you?" she asked worriedly, still a little puffy around the eyes from her tears.

"Because," Lazaro began, "he looked dead at me during his little speech. You know Phobus—always giving off some huge lecture as to this being part of _God's _plan,"—he practically gagged on this word—"so when he finished, he summed it up saying, 'and let this be a lesson to you all. We _will _rid the world of these freaks, these sinners, you can count on that,' and he gave me a sharp, cold, piercing stare as they took the girl's limp body from the noose. I wanted to strangle him with my bare hands then and there. He doesn't deserve to be killed quickly by magic. I wanted him so suffer so…" he growled.

"How long have you suspected him?" Geoffrey finally brought himself to say.

"Suspected him of _what_?" Lazaro asked quizzically.

"Of suspecting _you_!" Geoffrey hissed. Lazaro started to speak, but Aurora took up the voice on this one.

"Oh, he's suspected us for awhile. Sometimes I think he's just jealous of rich families, so he wants to automatically accuse them of witchcraft and sorcery. I don't doubt that he's purposely made mistakes in his accusations before. I wouldn't even be surprised if that little girl wasn't a witch at all, just a poor pawn in a revenge plot he had against her family. He's getting far too powerful, and today, the first person he's ever killed was a little girl. How horrible of a man can he really be?"

"As horrible as the Spectre," said Geoffrey, shivering.

"Aye," Lazaro agreed, not daring to talk on the matter further. Just then, a whistling sound made its way closer from outside, and—

CRASH!

"What was _that_?" said Lazaro. The women screamed in mild surprise, and Geoffrey ran out the study and down the hall. When he returned, he looked rather grim.

"We've got company…"

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                "So what was that all about?" Salazar asked Godric in mild curiosity as they exited into the courtyard. Godric looked rather shady, approaching him cautiously and silently.

                "My father," he began, "has a huge temper. Now don't get me wrong. He's never hit any of us or insulted us, but he gets so emotional very easily. It's no threat to us; we can always magically repair what he breaks, but it just scares the hell out of me sometimes. He just isn't the same person when he flips, like he's been possessed or lost his marbles. I just don't know him anymore when he gets like that, and you've seen him. Always kind and laughing; wouldn't that scare you if your father just exploded with rage out of nowhere?"

                Salazar thought about it, and then gave a quick nod. He then thought of a good idea. "Wanna practice some dueling like our dads did earlier? It'll take our minds off of this." Godric grinned and nodded in agreement. The two held out their wands like swords, and Salazar gave fair warning. "I'll hold back if you like. I know you're a lot more inexperienced since you're considerably younger than I am. How's that sound?" Godric scoffed and rolled his eyes.

                "Sounds absolutely _stupid_, you prat! How else am I supposed to learn if you go easy on me? I'll do my best to take whatever you throw. I _do _practice with my father, you know?"

                "My, spirited one, aren't you?" mocked Salazar as he was steadily raising his wand and then—

                "_STUPEFY!_" The blast shot out of his wand in a jet of yellow, heading straight for Godric, who, to Salazar's surprise, was readily prepared.

                "_PEGASUS!_" he yelled, pointing the wand at himself and then blazing past the jet of yellow to appear behind Salazar, who turned to face him in disbelief just as young Gryffindor's wand was fully raised. "_Tarantallegra!_"

                Salazar saw a jet of black flare out of the wand tip and barely avoided the attack, Apparating off to the side. "Good one!" he shouted, trying to catch his breath after the lucky dodge.

                "Told you I've had practice!" said Godric, who was beaming, and, to his amusement, watching Salazar do some sort of one-legged bunny hop. Apparently, Salazar hadn't been as quick as he'd hoped; the spell seemed to have managed to at least hit one of his legs. However, just as Salazar swept the spell away with a flick of his wand—

                CRASH!

                A huge, flaming arrow shot through the gate wall and smashed heavily into the fresh earth of the courtyard. The boys looked at each other.

                "This doesn't look too good," they both said at the same time. Through the wall stepped a mob of fifty men, all shouting and angry, all _Muggles_. The parents of the two boys Apparated into the courtyard, looking outraged and confused.

                "What is the meaning of this intrusion?" demanded Lazaro. He was clenching his free hand tightly into a fist and gripping firmly on his wand, his teeth gritting in utmost fury. Out of the mob stepped a rather tall, yet chubby man, whose neck was nonexistent. "Well, well, if it isn't Sir Pompous Dursley," sneered Lazaro.

                "That's _Phobus_ to you, Slytherin," Dursley spat. "You'd do well to remember that. It will determine how quickly I'm willing to finish you and your"—at this, he looked at the Gryffindors—"_friends _off." A twisted smile curled on his chapped lips, bearing filthy yellow teeth (some missing), and he began to approach them. The two families reached for their wands, and the mob drew numerous crossbows; six wands could do well against ten, maybe fifteen, but _fifty_ was out of the question. They were clearly overpowered here. Dursley smiled even broader and more ugly than before.

                "You'd do well not to use your wands on me," he said lazily, smiling and not taking his eyes off a single one of them at any time. "I'm sure you see your, er, _predicament_." Lazaro didn't quite find this situation enjoyable.

                "Eat _slugs_, Dursley," he spat.

                "Go marry a horse," Geoffrey equally retorted.

                "Go _snog _a horse!" Salazar added, bringing snickers from all the males in their small group. "I'm sure your children will look a _little _better than you at least. There's no other way you'll ever have any." Just as Lazaro didn't find their current situation enjoyable, Dursley didn't find any of these remarks funny, and his face was becoming the purplish-red of a beet.

                "You must all be eager to die, right?" he sneered, his eyes becoming extremely narrow like very beady slits.

                "Well, if it'd keep us from having to look at you," Geoffrey stated as if the answer were obvious, rhetorical. "I mean, then again, just _looking _at you, just the _smell _of you is deadly. No basilisk or Nundu could _ever _compete!" This was enough. Dursley signaled for his men to take aim, and Geoffrey, taking advantage of Dursley's back being turned and his allies being so far back they couldn't see what he was saying, mouthed to Lazaro, _Get ready to make a Shield_. Lazaro understood at once and clutched his wand even tighter, pulling it out slowly. Salazar and Godric did the same, and the wives followed suit. They each carefully hid their raised wands behind the backs of their necks.

                "Sorry to say, but your chances for mercy have just run out. When we're through with you, you'll _wish _it was just a clean arrow through the heart that killed you off, warlock." Dursley ran off to join the crowd and picked up his own crossbow, and just as he gave the order to fire—

                "NOW!" screamed Geoffrey, and they cast their spells simultaneously.

                "_MURUSIO CERVIUM_!" Just as the crossbows released their deadly swarms of arrows, the two families created one extremely powerful Shield Charm, casting all their separate Shield Charms together and focusing them at a single point. The resulting effect was _immense_—arrows bounced all over, many reflecting and returning to their senders, the screams of agony sounding through the crowd. Dursley barely dodged one that whistled past his ear, and started screaming for them all to move in. The boys were wrong. There weren't fifty. There were _one hundred and fifty_, all moving in through the small hole in the wall. They couldn't break through the barrier themselves, not even with the giant ballista arrows, so Lazaro took this opportunity to give the frenzied families instructions.

                "Salazar, Godric! Go inside! I don't want to hear your protests, boy, this is important! You will now see why I made your room the way I did. You are to head there and say the phrase, _Draco Stimulare_, is that understood?" Salazar nodded reluctantly. "Good. Could you go with them, Gloria? As soon as you've sealed the passageway by saying, _Draco Dormiens_, please go and signal the other wizarding families to come to our aid. Geoffrey, Aurora, and I will hold down the fort. Please hurry. Go now! Lead the way, Salazar."

_________________

_________________

                Salazar whistled through the empty house, practically jumping the staircase and whizzing down the hollow, narrow corridor. He scrambled for the correct door; in his panic, he couldn't remember with one. It took him nearly five minutes to realize where the correct door was, and then he heard it—

                SLAM!

                "Hold your positions! We still have about ten minutes before that Shield breaks. We need to develop a means of escape." This was Lazaro's voice that echoed through the voluminous hallways. Apparently, they'd retreated inside. It was this sound that let Salazar know he was running out of time.

                "Can't you just Apparate us to safety?" he asked Gloria. "I can't Apparate far, but we can all get out safely."

                "Absolutely not! You forget my son can't Apparate, and you forget that only you and your family can Apparate in and out of these walls. We need to make it outside first." said Gloria. "You'll just have to keep looking."

                "Fine, fine. Ah—here it is!" exclaimed Salazar as he opened the familiar door. Immediately, he set back to his hastened dash, Godric and Gloria trying to keep up. He swung the portrait open and ran through the snaking paths, left, right, left, up, up and a sharp left, right, down, two lefts, and straight ahead. He burst into his chamber, and shouted at the top of his lungs, "_Draco Stimulare_!"  Not knowing what to expect, he looked around anxiously, wondering what sudden change would occur, and then it happened—

                The four-poster, over which his acclaimed message was etched, began to shudder violently. The saying, _Draco Dormiens_, flashed brilliant green for one second, then one by one, each letter, starting from the "S" and ending with the first "D", lit up in a bright, fiery red, the red of a dragon's fire, then faded again. Afterwards, the bed slid to the left, revealing a cavernous tunnel that seemed to lead down to a new-looking dock, obviously preserved to stay fresh and new by magic. There was a rowboat, and Salazar knew what he must do.

                "Come, Godric," he called, and beckoned Godric forth with a gesture of his hand. The two descended into the cave and as they were halfway down, both turned around to face Gloria, who, to their amazement, had a tear running down her cheek, a solitary tear that seemed to say, _I may never see you again_. Godric ran up to her again and hugged her deeply, and she burst into full sobs.

                "Come on, Mum. Don't be like that. We'll see each other again. You and the others will be fine." It was this sight that made Salazar just as uneasy as he had just seen Lady Gryffindor, and he found himself wishing he'd remembered to give his parents a hug as well. _What _if _we never see each other again? I'll never forgive myself_. His train of thought broke when he saw Godric running back down at full sprint, and he looked up at Gloria, who had a new sense of confidence, and stood looking calm and resolute.

                "Take care, Lady Gryffindor!" called Salazar as he released the rope, and the boat drifted off out of the cave. She nodded and smiled, and then he heard her say _Draco Dormiens_, and the wall closed as she walked away from them. They didn't know where they were drifting, but they only hoped that wherever fate was sailing them, when they came to shore, all of their loved ones would be smiling upon them once more.


	2. Resolutions

Disclaimer- I do not own the Harry Potter franchise or said factual ideas about the founders. What I do own are the characters and the original storyline I create. Anything else is owned under the copyrights of J. K. Rowling 

That being said, enjoy!

**_Hogwarts: A History_**

**_Chapter One_**

**_Resolutions_**

Rays of sunlight shone brightly off the cream walls within the castle, so that the halls seemed to radiate as if made of pure gold. This particularly late Sunday morning promoted a sense of pleasantry, the lull and relaxation of a lazy on-the-verge-of-summer day. Obscured from the rest of the world, behind acres and acres of wood, the castle thrives on the foundations of a former hollow, ancient in appearance yet displaying the beauty only created by all things classical.

The landscape around Gryffindor Castle is never without visitors from the nearby forest. Seen grazing on the green slopes that surround the castle are deer, wild horses, rabbits, and birds that swoop overhead, including—

Owls, one snowy, the other tawny, flew inside an open window in the castle, both each clutching something within its talons. The odd thing is that neither of them should have been seen in the area, let alone in the daytime. Settling gently on the windowsill, the tawny watched the snowy fly inside a four-poster with carmine curtains. A few seconds later, the sound of a startled voice echoed through the vast bedroom, and then a rather gruff, deep-throated laughter sounded as well.

"Anxious to get on with your delivery today, aren't you?" said the man behind the curtains as he pushed them aside with one hand. Out came Godric Gryffindor, now well into his twenties, groggily wiping his eyes and smiling happily as the snowy, which was perched on his shoulder, nipped playfully and impatiently at his ear. "All right, all _right_!" he whined, laughing again, "hold on while I get the money." He stroked the snow white of the snowy owl's head gently, and it flew of to perch itself beside the tawny. Finally standing on his feet, he stretched with a rather long yawn, and scratched his back, clothed in crimson long johns. He staggered over to his dresser on the other side of the room, apparently trying to collect his senses, and removed his nightcap.

Looking into the mirror sleepily, Godric was revealed to have messy, long jet-black hair, frizzing up somewhat due to the fact he'd just woken up. His eyes, which still held some cold, were a dim green at the moment, which was destined to change once he felt a little more like his lively self. He, like his father, now possessed a goatee, ending in a fine point from his chin, except that his was still as black as his hair, and the tone of his muscular build could be seen through his long johns, showing him to have an extremely tall, powerful, medium-sized body.

Taking the time to at least brush and comb his hair so that it looked the least bit kempt, Godric now changed direction once more, heading for his wardrobe. Opening the large doors, he walked inside and felt around behind countless clothing and robes, finally finding what he was searching for and pulling out a large bag. From it, he withdrew three Knuts, and smiled as he turned to look at the snowy owl reassuringly. He had just noticed the large tawny, standing on top of a brown package it seemed to have carried along with it, and almost dropped all the money in both his hands.

"How fortunate! It's finally come!" he exclaimed, beaming at the owls. "Well, I suppose I'll have to pay you as well," he concluded, reaching into the bag again for a Galleon and two Sickles. Putting the respective, due payment in small sacks tied around the owls' legs, he snapped his fingers and out of nowhere appeared two plates of toast and a medium-sized bowl filled with pumpkin juice. "I couldn't just let you leave without feeding you, could I? You've both had quite a journey getting here, I'm certain of it. Thank you," he said in gratitude, and focused his attention upon the morning sky.

"_Merlin's beard_!" he gasped. "Almost noon already? Well, a shower won't do. We're expecting guests at quarter to noon." He returned to the dresser, and pulled his wand from atop it. He pointed it at himself, and muttered, "_Limpius_," and as quickly as he said it, he was clean from head to toe. He quickly combed his hair down one last time, looking into the mirror once more with brilliant green eyes that almost outshone his pearly white teeth revealed in a grin. "_Excellent_," he said, looking deviously cunning as he curled his goatee around his finger. "There's not a single maiden witch who can resist the spell I cast." He disappeared into the wardrobe, coming out a couple minutes later in crimson robes, thoroughly pleased with his appearance, fully convinced that he was ready to face the day awaiting him.

The owls finished their meal, and the dishes vanished as easily as they appeared. Godric walked over to pick up the package as he watched the owls take off into the clear blue sky, as well as returning to his bed to pull out the day's _Daily Prophet_ the snowy had left at the foot of his sheets. Tucking the package and the _Prophet _under his arm, he proceeded to exit his room, walking down the hall and descending the staircase as he hummed a cheery tune to himself.

Waiting for him at the large crystalline table were his father and mother. Geoffrey Gryffindor, whose hair was now completely gray, and whose beard was looking somewhat rugged across his face, looked up at Godric in a serious yet amused manner. "Would it be too much of a request that you be on time for a change? I'm certain you could be punctual if you actually _tried _to be." Godric beamed at his father, and sat down casually to the left of his mother, whom he pecked on the cheek. He then looked over to his father, who was expecting (possibly a smart-aleck) response from his son.

"My dear good fellow," Godric began coolly, "it doesn't hurt to be fashionably late. Besides, one doesn't get to be as handsome as I by waking up too early, now does he?" Geoffrey, who couldn't help snickering at this, sighed and resigned to reading his own paper once more.

"Honestly, boy, I don't know what I'm going to do with you."

"For one, you can stop calling me a boy, Father. It's hardly fitting for a wizard of 29." Geoffrey smiled broadly and looked up at his "boy". Godric had taken the bait.

"I'll stop calling you one when you stop acting like one," he teased. Godric gasped with mock indignation, and clamped onto his mother, still looking quite youthful and still maintaining her jet-black hair. She tried hard to keep a straight face. Godric would simply carry on even further if she gave the slightest laugh.

"_Mother_! Can you believe this man? He has insulted my honor, and refuses to apologize. I have been scarred for life. _Justice_! I demand _justice_!" Godric dramatically demanded, and at this, Gloria Gryffindor could no longer maintain her composure, lest she lose her sanity, and she ended up breaking out into a fit of laughter. Godric took this as an invitation to continue his antics. "Kind sir, being as I most certainly do not wish to rough you up in the least, might I be asking too much if you'd apologize?" Geoffrey went along with his son's games and stood up just as dramatically, pulling out a wand and a single, white glove. He walked over and swung the glove to slap each of Godric's cheeks, first the right then the left.

"Very well. If it's a duel you wish for…" he said coolly, fitting his glove back into his robe pockets.

"Well, I _never_—" he started, but what he never did, they never found out because at that moment, there was a knock at the door. "You're lucky the guests are here," Godric said, laughing so loudly and deeply it echoed through the entire castle. "If we'd have gone on, I can't be held accountable for any, er, _accidents _that would have occurred."

"Sure, sure, the accidents that happened to _you_," Geoffrey said. "But enough talk. Would you be a gentlemen,"—he muttered "for once" under his breath—"and welcome our guests inside?" Godric took a slight bow, excusing himself from the room, and suddenly fell over on the floor, apparently on purpose as though he were a klutz of sorts. Geoffrey gave a weak laugh as Godric got up, winked at them, and walked out. "Now, I'm worried… he plays too much for his own good."

"Relax, dear. You know he only acts silly around us," Gloria said, sipping on her tea—Geoffrey gawked at her as though she were wearing nothing but a smile in a room full of other men. Gloria noted this and added, "Well, okay, he doesn't act _as _silly around company. Better, dear?" From the hall, they could hear Godric's voice and the door opening.

"Why, good morning to you, Mr., Mrs., McKinnon," they overheard Godric saying politely. Mrs. McKinnon gave a high, pleasant laugh.

"Ah, Godric, you never lose that charm, do you?" Mrs. McKinnon said flatteringly.

"I should say the same for you!" he replied. "Mr. McKinnon! Haven't seen you for a while either. How has work been overseas? I hear "The Search" is still under weigh?"

"Good to see you too, young lad. Yes, I'm sorry to say we're still looking for him. No new leads, nothing," they heard Mr. McKinnon answer gloomily. 

"I'm sure something will come up—come in! Come _in_! My parents are awaiting you." Seconds later, Godric returned to the breakfast table, the McKinnons trailing behind him, taking in the sights of the castle's splendor and glamour. Once their eyes met, the elder Gryffindors and the McKinnons ran to greet each other.

"Charles! Good to see you, friend!" Geoffrey boomed as his hand came down hard on Charles McKinnon's back. The women exchanged kisses on each other's cheeks, and they all returned to the table. "Breakfast will be here shortly," Geoffrey added, but to his surprise, Mr. McKinnon waved it off uninterestedly. "Something wrong, Charles?" he asked with great concern in his voice. Charles sat down solemnly, took a big sigh, and looked at his host.

"Forgive me, Geoffrey," Charles said apologetically, "for my unmannerly decline, but I do not feel much up to eating at the moment, not with the most recent events." Geoffrey snapped his fingers, and instantly, a crystal glass of water appeared.

"Calm yourself, Charles. This has nothing to do with The Spectre, does it?" Geoffrey asked, watching Charles try to sip from his glass composedly. The women looked up, paying close attention to what their husbands were discussing.

"Aye, my friend," he said gravely. "Things cannot be any worse. The Spectre is growing stronger still. I fear that we will not be able to catch him at this rate. We still don't even know how he _looks_, and another death has occurred," Charles went on, having lost the little composure he had regained and ranting at the mouth as if he did not notice where he was, talking more so to himself than anyone. Godric continued reading his paper, and his eyes widened in horror as they fell upon something he was reading, his expression just as pale as that of Mr. McKinnon's.

"Father! _Look_!" 

Geoffrey approached Godric and looked over his shoulder to read what had caught his son's attention, and he, too, blanched. "There's no need to pressure Mr. McKinnon. The _Prophet _summed it up nicely!"

**Spectre Spooks Wand Store **

** Leaves Wands Wrecked **

**        Worse for Wizard Victim **

Today, an unfortunate tragedy has occurred yet again.

Timothy Ollivander, one of the many sons of the famous

Ollivander clan, was found dead in the Ollivander's Wand 

Shoppe. Equally shocking was the message left; the 

Spectre's signature on the window:

_No Wand Can Waiver My Power!!! You Have Been Warned _

The grief-stricken Ollivanders, headed by Jeremy Olliv-

ander, deeply regret their son's tragic demise. "He was only

there to clean and close up for the night," he explained as a

tear flowed painfully down his cheek. "If I'd have known

this would happen—" and he was no longer available for

comment at the moment, due to his condition. 

It appears the feared Spectre was trying to set an example, 

symbolically boasting his power by trashing the entirety of 

the shop. Luckily, the store itself holds a small portion of all 

the wands manufactured, so the business is still intact. "We

will be donating money for funding of 'The Search' and for

charity towards the victims of these crimes," a stern-looking

Mrs. Ollivander added when her husband burst into tears.

If you have any info or leads on the whereabouts or identity

of the Spectre or any of his followers, please contact your loc-

al authorities by owl as soon as possible. More info to come.

Godric folded up the paper and looked over to Mr. McKinnon, who, despite not having to have told the tale himself, was shaking violently just from hearing it. Aside from looking mannerly when the occasion called for such formalities, it seemed this problem was leaving him worn, weighing heavily on his mind, as though it were taking all of his efforts to force himself to remain calm. The Spectre had been rising in power since three years before Godric's fateful meeting with the Slytherins some eighteen years earlier. The most alarming, most terrifying thought about him was that this one man had killed hundreds of people, Muggle and wizard alike, and still remained indescribable. No one who saw his face lived to tell about it, so, essentially, no one was available to identify him.

"The _Ollivanders_?" Gloria gasped, glancing over to Mrs. McKinnon, who wasn't looking as stunned as the others because she had already heard this. Mrs. McKinnon nodded resolutely as she continued to massage her husband's tense shoulders and neck. "That's awful! They're about the nicest wizarding family around, not to mention one of the most powerful and respected. How could this happen to them? Poor Mr. Ollivander must be a nervous _wreck _now."

"It gets worse," Mr. McKinnon added, looking up at the Gryffindors and now a little calmer than he was before, his cheeks regaining color. "Word has it that these deaths are being caused by a new sort of Curse," he continued, "a Curse of instant death. Whoever is behind these murders is a genius, though in bad ways, but a genius nonetheless. Imagine how many people he could kill in a single _sweep_, and with a lazy flick of his wand, might I add?" Mr. McKinnon gently brushed away his wife's hand, gesturing his gratitude, and standing up, approaching the Gryffindors while he became increasingly passionate over his explanation. 

"I believe that there are no real symptoms in tracing what the actual Curse could be, and we also believe young Timothy was the first to be hit with it. I have a terrible feeling the death toll might more than double soon if enough of his followers learn it, whom, I might also add, have not been identified or caught yet either. It's like we're fighting an invisible army!" he said, pounding his left fist into his right palm. His expression had changed twice that day; first he had been polite and calm; second he became worried and pale; now, frustration and anger were taking over.

_It can't be _this _hard to catch someone, can it? _Godric despairingly thought to himself. He had never really considered doing anything outside of taking over his family's business, which consisted of selling and trading rare items and potion ingredients, but at this moment, he really couldn't help getting angry over the entire Spectre phenomenon, which plagued his home and brought terror and pain to all those around him. He looked at Mr. McKinnon, and the look he gave him was one of so much sincerity and severity, that even Mr. McKinnon, still with that developing rage, stopped dead in his tracks. 

"Damn him!" he shouted, surprised at how much he sounded like his father at the moment, and more so surprised at himself for being so serious. "Father," he growled, shaking uncontrollably with this new surge of rage, "I can't stand hearing about this much longer. I'm tired of hearing all these losses and no gains in the matter. Whatever we learn of is just more bad news for us! Mr. McKinnon, what does it take to become an Auror? I think you've found yourself a new one."

At this, Godric became the center of attention amongst the elderly crowd, which was gawking at him with probably the same surprise he had earlier felt himself. Geoffrey was the first to speak. "Son, what exactly are you trying to say?"

"What I'm _saying_, Father," responded Godric, considerably calmer than he had just shown, "is that I wish to help them capture this man. Surely we can end this if enough people are willing to support "The Search". The Ollivanders have even started helping with funding and charity. We rely on too many people to do our work for us, and I shudder to think what would happen if either of you wound up dying because I did nothing to prevent this, and so, I must ask you to forgive me, Father, but I do not wish to maintain the family business when you are gone."

Godric was expecting protest, but to his surprise, the tears that were coming out of his mother's eyes were of joy as she clasped her hands together, and his father gave a wide, proud smile. "SO!" he boomed, "you've finally decided to do something more with your life! My boy, seeing you grow up has been wonderful, and I always knew you had potential, but I feared you _would _be lazy and just rely on carrying on our business. Your mother felt this way as well," he said, beaming over to his wife, who had blown her nose rather loudly with her ruby red handkerchief. Godric was wide-mouthed and gaping.

"F-f-father? You were _hoping _I'd leave? You too Mother?" he said, incapable of believing the utter oppositeness of their reactions. 

"Well, of course, dear boy," Gloria responded. "Do you _really _think we want you around all day, lounging around wherever you wish? No, we were hoping you'd make excellent use of your skills in Transfiguration and spells. We always thought you'd make a good Auror, or someone who did some sort of active labor. Frankly dear, you just don't seem cut out for business."

"B-b-but who will carry on the _family name_?" Godric stuttered and sputtered indignantly.

"Oh, silly boy!" Gloria exclaimed, laughing heartily. "You forget that we've got plenty of time to produce a new heir to our business, and besides, that's _another _good reason you are greatly wanted out of here," she added, giving a roguish wink to Geoffrey, who, at the moment, went crimson in the face. Godric was probably just as embarrassed, but not in the same sense.

"Mother, could you kindly do me a favor?" he asked politely.

"Whatever do you want?" she replied.

"_Never_, _ever_, say anything like that ever again as long as I'm still living!" he shouted before giving a slight shudder and storming out the room, quite panicky and even more so disturbed. The McKinnons gave a slight, nervous laugh and the elder Gryffindors looked utterly baffled.

"I wonder what's gotten into _him_?" Gloria asked. Geoffrey could only shrug.

________________

________________

Salazar walked into the Main Hall, keeping a steady pace, a tray of tea and cream in his hands. His expression was rather solemn and serious as if what he was doing were part of a routine that was practiced consistently, and it was. Such was the daily trip he took three times a day to his parents' chambers. He climbed the staircase slowly, making sure not to so much as cause a teacup to shake in the slightest. From the looks of the Main Hall, nothing seemed to be any different about Slytherin Manor than before that fateful incident eighteen years prior, well, nothing inanimate.

Salazar had undergone several drastic changes, all for the better. Certainly looking older and more handsome than he already had been, he had also become much taller in height. The sleek hair he once had was now grown rather long and tied back in a ponytail that extended to his upper back. He did not seem to show any signs of the life for which he had been known, and his eyes were somewhat saddened and dull, like those of a man who had lost faith in something long ago. As he reached the top of the stairs, he looked off to the left, the corridor that led to the passage to his bedroom. Looking off to the right, he gave a slight nod and continued his routine journey in that direction, the path to his parents' bedroom.

Even though the scenery remained unchanged, the Slytherin family wasn't the only indicator that time had passed. The atmosphere of the spacious Manor itself was one of great depression. Everything seemed to feel so empty, so emotionless. Perhaps that's why the Slytherins now only had visitors once every five years and perhaps that is why they severed ties with all relations outside the castle besides their distant bloodlines, but while it was the emptiness that could explain why this was what life had been like, the one important question that loomed in the air for many had yet to be answered: why had Slytherin Manor lost its spirit? Every house, every _home_, has a spirit, a fiery happiness that flows from its outer walls and greets passer-by and guest alike, but Slytherin Manor didn't, and only the few people who set foot within its vast halls knew why.

Salazar had a long walk ahead of him. Even though his parents' bedroom was not accessed through one of a million identical doors or behind a sole portrait or even through snaking passages, the door was at the very end of the right corridor on the West Wing of the house, and it was a reasonable distance, more so because Salazar took his time reaching it. However, as he approached the doors, they swung open, beckoning him inside. A cold draft fell on him, and he gave a slight, silent shudder as he looked to the massive bed before him in the dark room.

"Salazar," a weak voice called to him. "Salazar, is that you?"

"Yes, Father, it is I. I have brought your morning tea for you," he answered obediently. A wheezing sound came from behind the bed curtains.

"Ah, thank you, son. I really do not understand why you put up with me this way," Lazaro said sadly. Salazar stood silently, staring through the curtains. Nonetheless, his next words had a tone to them that seemed to express his objection to his father's.

"Whatever do you mean, Father?"

"You know very well what I mean, boy," Lazaro replied. "What man would wish to tend to an old, bitter fool such as myself? You have been miserable this past score, because I have made you so with my own misery. Why did you not send me off to my brother's? I would have been well cared for, and you would not have to suffer along with me."

"Father, the man who does such a deed is one who loves his parents deeply, one who understands them and does not shirk his responsibilities for his own selfish desires. I am in your debt, and I love you and Mother far too much to ignore that,"—at this, he trembled slightly—"you didn't bring your brother into this world. You brought _me_. You gave _me _life. It would be wrong of me not to look after yours." 

Salazar approached the curtains, hearing a wheezing sound that indicated his father could actually be smiling. Opening them, it revealed a feeble man, practically hidden beneath sheets of emerald, his skin and hands pale and wrinkled as if they hadn't met the sun's rays for far too long. His father wasn't a living corpse. His body held on too stubbornly to life, as if he wanted nothing more than to remain bitter forever, eternally lost in a world of mental anguish and regret. It was like he was the living dead, only he was not repulsive in the grotesque sense, like a zombie, but more so eerie yet chillingly alluring, like a vampire. He sure seemed like one. His skin was so pale it was as if there was no blood in him whatsoever.

Salazar placed the tray on Lazaro's lap as his father sat up, smiling vaguely. "Thank you, son," he said, his voice somewhat weak and raspy, "but I've thought for awhile that I have been far too much of a burden for you to take on. These past eighteen years have shackled you down in the darkness with me for so long, I fear that neither of us will ever see the light again. I do appreciate how loyal you've been to me, but the truth remains that I can't just lay here forever, sulking."

"Fath—"

"Now you listen here. This is no way for me to honor Aurora's life, by ceasing to live myself. Son, I plan to regain my strength and venture into the world once more, and then, I shall truly honor my wife's name," Lazaro said, his voice rising, "by killing those responsible for her death!"

"Father, please do not speak of Muggles that way. Not all of them are evil like Phobus is. For you to condemn them—"

"Is for me to have done the right thing!" Lazaro shouted furiously, his dark expression bringing silence to Salazar. "I have spent all these years running the same course of events through my mind _over _and _over _and _over_…" he moaned despairingly, a small flicker of life reappearing in him, "and there's no other way I can see it, son. The Muggles are filled with hatred and it's all they'll ever know!" Lazaro sighed at Salazar. "You will learn one day for yourself how bloodthirsty and unmerciful Muggles can be. You will learn that all your neighborly deeds and charity will only be rewarded with pain and death, fear, hopelessness, disgrace, disgust, and so many horrible feelings. I do hope that you prove me wrong son, but I just cannot see it any other way at this time. Phobus is not his own individual—"

"_He_, son," Lazaro said, cutting his son off as Salazar opened his mouth in protest, "is the product of development, shaped by Muggles who _taught _him to hate. To loathe someone so strongly is a learned process, a result of actions and reactions over a course of many years, no, you can remove Phobus from the world, but there will be another one exactly like him on the way, I guarantee it."

"Father, with an attitude like that, you would be as bad as Phobus," Salazar said sternly, adding "and it is _because _we keep ourselves civil that we are far better than the Muggles." Salazar and Lazaro looked at each other in silence for a moment, and finally, Lazaro lifted his head with dignity, as though he were about to make an announcement.

"Well, Salazar, I cannot promise you that my thoughts on the Muggles will ever change, and I know you can understand how I feel as they took what was most precious to me," Lazaro said, watching his son nod comprehensively, "but I _can _promise you this. I am through sitting around here waiting for a love that may never return, and sitting here won't bring her back, it won't honor her, and I most certainly cannot do anything about her death from this bed. I am going to try, slowly but surely, to venture back into this world. I shall not burden you any longer."

"Father, are you sure? I mean, you have not been well for so long, and it will be difficult to come back into the world."

"Salazar, don't _worry_! I am willing to take as long as I need, but _you _must learn to live yourself. You see, I chose this fate, to stop living, and I never gave you much choice in that for yourself, something I have spent the past decade regretting…" Salazar intently continued listening to his father talk. "You have always been so lively and carefree, and I am sure you long to return to the way you once were. I know it still sits there inside of you. I have ventured out of this bed before, you know. Yes, Salazar, I _do _have to go to the bathroom at times, you know,"—Salazar was gawking at his father, with an expression that said, _So that's why he never asked for the chamber pot!_—"and I have looked outside, avoiding the bright sunlight I've evaded for so long, to see you playing with the wandering animals. I've noticed you even charmed a python, and yes, I saw you bring it in here as a pet. This entire ordeal has left you quite pained and lonely, has it not, and for _that_, my son, I am sorry."

At this moment, the emotionless expression that Salazar had on his face, the very one he seemed to have trained himself to maintain, the very one he had used so that he might bear the task given him, was nonexistent, replaced by a look of relief and joy, that his father was back into the world, and that he could finally be free. Yes, it had been the animals from the neighboring landscapes that had kept him sane all these eighteen years, and he had been quite pleased to find the python, which he'd come to love most because he had grown up loving snakes, the very symbol of his family; he had even shocked himself beyond belief when he had succeeded in developing a means of communication between himself and Serthia, the name he had given to the python, who ended up telling him she was female.

He and his father looked at each other, smiles and tears on their faces, and then they burst out in a laughter that had escaped their vocals since the day that Aurora died. Salazar helped his father out of bed, and reflexively caught him as Lazaro staggered, almost losing total balance.

"Thought you said you'd been out of bed before," Salazar teased, grinning broadly.

"Yeah, well, it's been longer than I thought," Lazaro replied, shrugging as his son supported him, the two of them walking downstairs to catch some fresh air and bask in the sun in the courtyard.

________________

________________

Godric stood on the verge of the forest entrance, staring thoughtfully within, as he saw animals scuttle around looking for food and shelter. He had really dropped a bomb on his family. _Me_, he thought miserably, _an _Auror! _What was I _thinking? He hadn't really been there long when Mr. McKinnon appeared behind him.

"Thinking about what you said back there, are you?" he asked concernedly.

"Aye," Godric muttered, not taking his eyes off a squirrel scurrying into its tree with a newfound nut. "How could I have possibly been so stupid? Me? An _Auror_? I'd much sooner marry the Spectre before I become an Auror." Mr. McKinnon, though he was sure it wasn't helping, let out a loud, boisterous laugh. Godric looked at him, astonished, embarrassed, somewhat furious, and immediately returned his gaze to the forest's inner dwellings. Mr. McKinnon recollected himself, and put his hand on Godric's shoulder, which Godric tried grumpily to shrug off, to no avail. He glared at Mr. McKinnon, who was still beaming.

"My dear young lad, do you not realize _anything _you've said?" he asked, the smile purely radiating from his expression. Godric gave an indignant grunt.

"Sure, I realize it all. I've just said a little boy's dream of becoming an Auror and made an ass of myself in front of my parents and their guests. I know very _well _what I've said," he sneered.

"Godric, your parents laughed at you wanting to _do _something with your life, not what you _planned _to do. They weren't laughing because they thought you _couldn't_ be an Auror, they were instead laughing because they didn't think you'd go _through _with it. If it hurt you that bad, go in and explain it to them! They weren't making fun of you," Mr. McKinnon said jovially as Godric gave another grunt. This only caused him to smile more. "You know," he began delicately, "_never _would I have thought I'd see the day when _Godric Gryffindor_, of all _people_, could not take a joke." 

"Yeah, well there's a first time for everything, isn't there?" Godric snapped.

"Oh, dear _heavens_, boy! Stop being such a baby! Go in there and talk to them already!" Mr. McKinnon said in his same happy tone, though there was a hint of impatience. Godric gave a defeated sigh and turned to face Mr. McKinnon.

"All right, all right," he grumbled, sweeping back up to the castle. He found his parents and Mrs. McKinnon in the study. "Father? Mother? A word with you, please?" he requested. The two of them looked at each other, and they stood up, following him as he beckoned them away from the room. The three walked to a secluded part of the castle, where the sun's rays were already turning shades of reddish-orange and pink and it was apparent by the rays and cooler air that the sun was setting. Godric looked off into the sunset, gave a sigh, and then turned his head to his parents.

"Mother, Father, there's something I want to say to you…" Godric started. However, Geoffrey spoke up before he could continue.

"Look, son, if it's about what we said earlier, we're sorry if we offended you in any way," he said, looking sincerely apologetic. Then, Gloria piped up.

"You'd been out there brooding for so long, it made us feel absolutely terrible," she added. "We thought you would have just taken it as a joke, being as you have to admit that you're rarely _ever _serious—" Geoffrey gave a snicker, and Godric smirked a bit—"and we did not realize how sincere you were. The thing we were trying to say to you was that it has been our _dream _to see you go out on your own into the world rather than to wait for fortune and security to fall into your lap, which, don't get me wrong, we would not have minded giving to you. You are our _son_, Godric, and we love you _dearly_ because of it, and it is because you are our child that we would have wished for the best for you, whatever you chose. We would give you the _world _if we could you know that. We may not have looked the part, but you made us so proud when you looked so stern and resolute today. I want you to know that if it is your wish to become an Auror, you have our support." Gloria smiled joyously at her son, her eyes watering once more like they'd done earlier that day.

"Mother—" Godric started, but he was at a loss of words at the moment, and they certainly refused to come afterwards. In response to his shortly ended reply, Geoffrey simply walked over to him, and extended his hand. Godric did the same, and they shook, grinning the entire time.

"Well done, my boy," Geoffrey said gruffly, clasping his free hand onto Godric's back and pulling him into a fatherly hug. "You couldn't have made us prouder, but do you want to know the interesting thing?"

"What's that?" Godric said, struggling to keep his eyes clear as he looked over his father's shoulder, still in the hug, at his mother who was wiping tears from her own.

"We never doubted you," Geoffrey finished. They broke from their hug, and spent the next couple seconds looking at each other, smiling. "You might want to go and talk to Charles," Geoffrey added. "He's been wanting to talk to you about what needs to be done as an Auror."

________________

________________

"So, finished talking to them yet?" Mr. McKinnon asked, his back turned to Godric whom he seemed to sense coming rather than see.

"How did you kno—" Godric said, being instantly cut off by Mr. McKinnon's reply.

"We Aurors need to be at the top of our game," he said, turning around and beaming at Godric. "You don't stay alive too long if you can't tell someone's approaching you in this line of work."

"I… suppose you're right," Godric said, smiling slightly. He had to admit that Mr. McKinnon had a very solid point.

"Oh, _do _you now?" Mr. McKinnon asked jokingly. "Well, I suppose that supposing is the best I could expect from the great Godric, now isn't it?" Godric's eyes were twinkling.

"'The Great Godric'", he said thoughtfully. "Has a nice ring to it, wouldn't you agree?"

"Oh, _sure_," responded Mr. McKinnon, "if you want your title to use such a simple description. How about… 'The _Glorious _Godric'?" The two immediately set off to making various names.

"—'The _Godly _Godric!"

"—'The _Gracious _Godric!"

"—'Godric the _Genius_!"

"—'Godric the _Gassy_!'" Mr. McKinnon shouted, laughing so loudly it rung in Godric's ears. Godric was looking baffled.

"'Godric the Gassy'? Whatever made you think of _that _one?" he said, scratching his head. Mr. McKinnon held up a finger to signal that he had yet to catch his breath, and he calmed down considerably, seconds later, his laugh reduced to a bright smile.

"My dear lad," he started, "surely you must understand my reasoning?" He watched as Godric shook his head confusedly, and decided to continue, trying to keep himself from bursting out with laughter. "No one has more hot air than you, my boy. If you were going to be remembered for something, who, good or Dark, could forget your big mouth?" Godric gave a look of mock astonishment, and then the two laughed loudly before returning to the castle.

________________

________________

Godric lay awake in his chambers that night. The McKinnons had long since left, and his newfound desire was leaving him full of thought and full of an inescapable insomnia. He now had much with which to worry himself, though he wished that his worries had been as easily eliminated, as his decision was to make. He now had to concern himself with whether he would make an apt Auror, and he also had to worry himself with the idea of being away from his parents, who made it clearly that they deeply loved him. Worst of all, he wondered if he would ever even _be _acknowledged as an Auror.

Mr. McKinnon, already aware of Godric knowing what an Auror was, had explained to him once more that the job of one is to fight off Dark wizards that threaten the law and order established over such a long period of time. Godric turned over and groaned. How could he fend off Dark wizards when he wasn't even able to fend off Muggles? He recalled clearly what happened those eighteen years earlier. How could he save wizardkind from magic-possessing villains when he was whisked away helplessly and swiftly to safety? He remembered all too well what happened when he and Salazar had arrived to the estate of Lazaro's brother that night. They had both been so happy to be alive, and expected their parents to return safely to them, but it wasn't meant to be for Salazar. Godric now rolled over on his back once more, eyes wide open.

Phobus Dursley had managed to claim Aurora Slytherin's life before help finally came, and Salazar was left motherless while Gloria remained alive and well. Godric often blamed himself for Salazar's loss. He blamed himself for being so weak. He felt guilty that his mother had lived on. He felt guilty about the sense of relief he'd felt that mournful day when their parents came over the neighboring hills, ignoring Salazar's expression of pain and disbelief. He felt guilty that he could not relate when Lazaro shook his head sadly, expressing the news wordlessly to Salazar, whom Godric had never had the impression of to be one who cries. He felt guilty that he could not shed a single tear for his newly made friend because he felt so lucky and grateful to be able to know he still had his mother's warm, loving embrace, and he felt guilty that he had not seen Salazar since the funeral a year after Aurora's death.

He recalled vividly how silent they had both been, unable to look each other in the eye, and he hoped against hope that Salazar would feel the feelings he felt towards himself: anger, loathing, disappointment, worthlessness, anything that could diminish him, punish him in any way, for that was what he wanted. He wanted nothing more than to feel even half of what Salazar had been made to feel, the hurt, the sorrow, the grief.

Godric had spent eighteen years suppressing these feelings of guilt so that he might maintain sanity. He had done it so that he would not end up killing himself over it. But even so, he had made his decision; he would become an Auror. There was no choice now but to face his fears and guilt. _The only way that I can ever hope for redemption is to succeed_, he thought to himself. _I _will _become an accomplished Auror! _With his second resolution of the day, he found himself able to relax at last, and he slowly began to drift off to sleep.

Besidesredemption, there was one thing more that he wanted: to see Salazar again. Whatever hell his old friend had gone through alone all these years, he wanted to help him regain some thread of happiness. Even more so, Salazar was the first friend Godric had ever made, and he was certainly the best friend Godric ever had. Godric spent the remainder of that night, soundly sleeping and willing to take on whatever obstacles life and fate would come to throw in his way.

The following morning, the sense of peace that had come to surround the walls of Gryffindor Castle returned once more, and the animals known for wandering around on its outskirts were present, grazing, oblivious to whatever might be going on beyond the forest's seclusion. Once more, owls swooped overhead, but only one seemed to be destined for Godric's window. 

It was a small, brown owl, landing importantly before Godric as it entered inside his bed curtains. It gripped the covers tightly with its talons, and awakened Godric, who gave a slight yelp as the sharp talons slightly poked his skin. The owl did not seem to be demanding payment, but it was intent on making sure that Godric read what it had presented to him. An official-looking roll of parchment, tied to a string, which had probably hung from the owl's mouth, and wrapped in an unfamiliar seal, lay at Godric's feet. He picked it up and took off the seal, unrolling the parchment and he read carefully. His eyes widened, and he dropped it.

"_Merlin's beard_!" he gasped, clutching his chest in amazement and excitement.


End file.
